Affairs of Entailment
by two fish
Summary: Rumor had it that orphaned and unmarried Eleanor Barnett had lost her inheritance to an uncle. And what rumor had, went in the little Eastfarthing town of Dwaling. Well, until two very handsome and very single young lads showed up, at any rate.
1. Rumor Has It

**Disclaimer: **I own Jack Squat.

Affairs of Entailment

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

* * *

IT WAS WELL KNOWN by Eleanor Barnett's thirty-fourth birthday that she intended to spend the rest of her life unmarried and living in her father's house off her father's fortune, no doubt whiling away her youth in some armchair off in a study somewhere, reading some ridiculous book (also her father's) about philosophy or something equally as absurd like that.

But unfortunately, for Eleanor, at least, it was also well known that following her parents' death (a most unfortunate stroke of luck with an apple and a rather quite obstinate mule), _if _she indeed never married, her father's estate at Lancaster was to be entailed _back _to the Barnett family itself, leaving poor Eleanor with no inheritance other than the small but comfortable sum her father had actually left her, plus an added amount from her mother.

Well, that's how rumor had it at any rate. But whether or not it was actually true really didn't matter, since whatever rumor said, went in the small East Farthing town of Dwaling. Truth be told, no one had actually seen Dodoric Barnett's will since he'd written it thirty-odd years ago, but everyone was perfectly willing to believe the Barnetts' claims to the fortune, mostly because they knew that money in the Barnetts' hands was money in theirs.

But oh, how her mother must have been rolling in her grave when she realized this! For she knew the chances of her daughter marrying were just as likely as… well… something rather unlikely, like her daughter actually falling in love. And she thought it a most dreadful waste to have given her daughter such fine, exquisite looks only to have Eleanor hide them behind some damned book! (For it was also well known that the only thing Mrs. Barnett _could _waste was her husband's money, if you don't count the time spent on all those numerous but fruitless attempts to find the _perfect_ future son-in-law.)

And, however much he would have hated to admit it, Mr. Barnett was probably _just_ as restless at the idea of his five sisters taking over the place. The _least _they could do was to leave his daughter the family estate at Knocturn Abbey, but whatever would _she _do with all that farmland? They'd probably leave it to his only nephew, anyway, once they'd all moved out.

"I can't believe you're going to sit back and let them take over the place!" Ruby Hollow, her cousin on her mother's side, cried to her one day. She scarcely took her eyes off of her book as she sat on the banks of the pond. "You've only a year left before they _force _you to move out! What _ever_ will you do with yourself? Certainly not stay here! It is so _dreadfully _boring."

"No more boring than staying in an empty house." Eleanor rocked herself back and forth on the wood swing hanging from the branch of a gnarled willow and sighed.

"Only because you insist on not populating it!" Ruby cried. "Honestly, you've brought this all upon yourself, you know. I can't believe you're not going to _do_ anything about it!" she repeated.

"Ruby Hollow, if you're insinuating that I use my predicament as an excuse to find a husband of nothing more than _convenience_, you're as bad as Lidu."

Ruby placed her book in the grass turned to her cousin. "_Lydia_ Barnett may be a cheap romantic, but rest assured, dear cousin, _I _am not. We Hollows are hobbits of _substance_." And she promptly turned her back to Eleanor with a _humph_.

"Which is precisely why you accompany her to Frogmorton in your _best _bodice and bonnet, with your hair fixed and your face all dolled up, when the Eastfarthing Troop has come to town."

"That is most certainly _not_ what I was getting at, dear cousin," Ruby assured with a scoff. "But while we're on the subject—_and at this point Eleanor rolled her eyes, for she knew where this conversation was going, as she and her cousin had discussed the dreaded 'subject' many a time_—I still hold my opinion that you're wasting a wonderful opportunity.

"I mean, look at you: you're pretty, rich, old enough to marry, probably the most eligible lass in Dwaling—not that that's saying much, but you get my drift—and yet all you do is sit at home reading and waiting for your greedy, no-good relatives to scrounge up everything your mother and father worked so hard to give you!"

"If they worked so hard to give it to me, they should have had more sense than to entail it to the most undeserving bunch of idiots ever to be bred in the Shire."

"_Eleanor_!" Ruby hissed in a low voice, looking about to make sure no one had heard her cousin's less than acceptable words. "Besides, they _did _entail it you, unless you've forgotten."

"Well they might as well not have. Now pray tell what exactly you were getting at a moment ago," Eleanor said dismissively, waving her hand as if it were no big deal, twirling herself around on the swing.

Ruby was silent for a moment, quietly contemplative as she regarded a dandelion with a frown. "I was _only insinuating,_ in the first place,_ dear _Eleanor, that you should do something about getting the entailment _changed_ to change your circumstances," she admitted at length, "not change your _circumstances_ to get the entailment!"

Eleanor laughed and leaned back, closing her eyes and allowing the wind to whip across her face. "You could change my father's will no sooner than you could find it, and you can change any will, for that matter, no sooner than you can find me a husband, my _dear_ cousin!"

Ruby sighed and rolled her eyes, picked her book back up and turned to the pond, casting a small stone in for good measure. Then she plucked the dandelion from the ground and held it to her face. "Then I shall _just _have to find you a husband," she said, blowing the duffy seeds to the wind and tossing the stem into the pond once they were out of sight.

* * *

DOWN AT KNOCTURN ABBEY not two hours later, the Barnetts were just set down for luncheon at the long table in the dining room.

All twenty-four of them, that was, save the three who'd carried their plates to the back porch, eager to escape their family's constant chatter and incessant gossiping, for such things are quite inevitable in situations in which the women outnumber the men one to three.

Eleanor strove to avoid them if at all possible, sparing herself the uncomfortable silence her presence would bring, for they were no doubt talking of what they would do with Lancaster once the one-year they'd so graciously granted her was indeed up.

Oh, _Dear_ Aunt Katrina and her poor husband Polo could entail the whole of Knocturn Abbey to their son Cole, the only male descendant in the family, once everyone else had moved out, they being the only ones intending to stay. What a fine wife they might find him with such a fortune!

And _Dear_ Aunt Melissa and her two daughters Marigold and Mentha would have _ever so much _more room to store their numerous dresses and petticoats in all the free space that would be provided by her _dear _sister's absence.

_Dear_ Aunts Penelope and Esmerelda would probably barter off some unneeded furniture and her mother's collection of silver spoons, no doubt to invest in smials of their own, assuming they wouldn't invest in jewelry and clothing first.

And _Dear _Aunt Sophia, Lidu's mother, the sister-in-law, Brian Barnett being her _third _husband, would have a room for each of her four children. It was, after all, _Brian _who would actually inherit the estate from his brother, being the patriarch of the family, or as much of a patriarch as he could be with five sisters, a nagging wife, and eleven other unmarried young women, all no older than thirty-five.

But Dear unmarried Aunt May simply didn't know what she'd do. She'd already, quite simply, endured enough of her family's nonsense for _one_ morning. Her predicament was most discouraging, for out of all her many sisters and in-laws and nieces and nephew, not a one of them had yet come to the realization that Lancaster was, having been built, in fact, for _three _instead of twenty-four, after all, a good deal _smaller _than Knocturn Abbey. And more discouraging was the fact that _she_ would be the one to deal with it once they all found out, for they'd probably be in too great a shock and inundated in such despair as to render them incapable of handling the situation themselves.

Such domestic talk both bored and confused cousin Lidu, who only really wanted to talk of clothes, jewelry, and most of all hobbit lads, all of which she could do, amazingly, at one time.

Not that any of the younger girls didn't, but their mothers kept much better tabs on their daughters than Sophia Barnett did on Lydia. Lidu actually had an exceptional talent for it, being somewhat more intelligent than her other Barnett cousins (_save Eleanor_) though never really applying her intelligence to anything really intelligent, and was in the process of demonstrating said talent when Eleanor herself was brought into the subject.

"You know, Lee," as the Barnetts called her, "I was _just _now thinking of how _grand _a trip to Frogmorton this time of year would be," she began, giving no room for protests. "You _know_ how much you simply _adore _your _favourite_," she teased, fully aware that Eleanor knew good and well what she was doing,_ "_cousin in the _whole _wide world, and it would mean _ever _so much to me if—_what on earth does that woman want now?_"

Eleanor breathed a sigh of relief when Lidu stomped huffily back into the smial at the request of her mother, who was probably going to ask her which room she would want once they moved to Lancaster, what color she would like it painted, and whether she would like a new bedroom set with all the money Sophia would get from mooching off Aunt Penelope and Aunt Esmerelda's idea with the spoons.

May shook her head, smiling but too disappointed in the follies of her own flesh and blood to laugh.

"You'd better get going before she invites you to the ball, Lee," May warned with a smirk.

Eleanor frowned and put down her fork. "What ball?"

May put on an expression of mock surprise and her hand fluttered over her chest. "Your cousin wants you to take her shopping in Frogmorton with _your _money, and you ask _what ball_!" she laughed, throwing off the act. "Honestly, Lee, I thought you much cleverer than _that_."

"Are the Barnetts throwing a ball?" Eleanor asked incredulously, mouth agape at the horror that might ensue if such a thing was ever to pass.

"No," her Aunt gasped, much to her niece's relief. "_Heavens _no. But rumor has it that a fine young man is planning on building his mother's summer home in Dwaling, and one does not come to live in Dwaling without first hosting a housewarming ball, especially seeing as we're a bit low on social events now that your mother, bless her soul, is gone. And as we all know—"

"What rumor says goes," they chorused dejectedly.

"Oh, I hadn't heard," said Eleanor, now wishing she hadn't.

"Yes, well, now you have," May confirmed dismally. "But no one has to know, so run along before Lidu ends up taking you husband-shopping."

"Oh she wouldn't do that with Lancaster at stake," Eleanor argued confidently, waving her fork.

"I never said for _whom_," May pointed out with a raised eyebrow.

Eleanor nodded in sudden understanding before grabbing her plate and handing it to her aunt. "Send me word when it is safe to come back," she told her. "I'll probably be staying down at The Hollow, though I have _more_ than a slight suspicion that Ruby has heard the news and will no doubt be just as eager to talk me into going for the same reason I originally assumed to Lidu."

She descended the wooden steps of the now deteriorating Barnett back porch and walked on until she had just reached the equally rickety gate. She undid the latch and called back to her aunt in afterthought, "But of course you don't have to tell Lidu that!"

* * *

THE COUNTDOWN to the Lancaster inheritance began the next morning, a month exactly after the Barnetts' passing.

At The Hollow, the Hollows spent the evening in an uncomfortable silence, the women busing themselves with knitting and crocheting and cross-stitching and embroidery, and the men busying themselves with a good book, as the sounds of rejoicing and celebration from Knocturn Abbey, however muffled by the walls of the smial, rang on with a good deal of fervor throughout the night.

Off in Frogmorton, the Jackleys had just arrived from Hobbiton and Mr. Underhill and his elderly mother from Stock. They booked a few rooms in a well-known inn, ordered a few rounds of ale, and toasted to an elegant summer smial that had not yet been built.

As predicted, Eleanor Barnett spent her last night whiling away the hours in an armchair in the late Mr. Barnett's study, sipping on tea and munching on crumpets, and reading some book about philosophy or something absurd like that, all into the wee hours of the morning. She looked up only as the clock struck midnight.

So began the affairs of her father's entailment.


	2. New Arrivals

Affairs of Entailment

* * *

**CHAPTER TWO**

* * *

IT CAN BE SAID of most dignified young lasses that when presented with the unexpected presence of a dignified young lad, the lasses will be likely to make utter and complete fools of themselves, especially when such things as good looks and multitudes money are in abundance or even _seemingly_ in abundance.

So it was the morning that May Barnett stumbled from the slumber of her humble abode to be greeted only by the backsides of all eleven of her live-in nieces, most of whom were neither dignified nor really deserving of the title of 'young lasses', but the above premises nevertheless applied.

Had the two young men on the front doorstep of Knocturn Abbey been aware of the most indecent congregation of onlookers scrounging for a look at them through the curtains of the foyer window, it would have been a most interesting predicament indeed.

Such was not the case—they were completely unaware. The only young lass whose acquaintance they had had the pleasure of making that morning was that of Lydia Barnett. She was currently standing before them in the doorway with her hand firmly placed on the golden knob in the middle of the round, green door, desperately attempting to keep her cousins out of sight and at bay, but mostly out of jealousy than any sentiments of embarrassment.

Though it is questionable if said situation was any better than previously stated hypothetical one, the point can be clearly deduced as this: it was inevitable, either way, that the Barnetts should make utter and complete fools of themselves by whatever means necessary.

It was this notion that drove May Barnett, despite how undesirable the answer to her question would no doubt be, to figure out what in heaven's name was going on.

"Oh, Aunt May!" Mentha cried. "There are two _devilishly dashing _young lads right outside our front door!"

"They _are_ the most _handsomest_ things I've ever seen!" Marigold concurred eagerly, and equally as eagerly returned to staring out the window.

"Pray tell what words have passed," May said, wincing before the damage was even accounted for.

"The fairer haired one has come from Hobbiton with the darker haired one, who's come from Stock with his mother to build a summer home right here in Dwaling!" Estelle exclaimed excitedly.

"Were you not already aware of this?"

"But of course we'd heard!" Emerald, Estelle's sister exclaimed.

"But we hadn't _heard_!" the third sister, Emma, finished just as breathlessly.

"My dear, dear niece, I'm afraid you make no sense at all!" cried May, fearing for the worst.

"How could we?" Peony sighed. "The sight of them is nearly _intoxicating_!" She leaned more generously on the window and stroked the glass with her finger before her sister slapped it away.

"Really, Aunt May," insisted Pansy, "you _must_ come see for yourself." Then she turned back to the doorway and exclaimed, "_Oh, Lidu! Do ask them how long they will be staying!_"

"_And if they have a place to stay!_"

And then only a moment later:

"_A year! A year! They'll be in and out of Dwaling for an ENTIRE year!_"

"_And at The Floating Log! How HORRIBLE!_"

"_You must invite them here for supper!_"

"_You must invite them here FOREVER!_"

"Oh, gods, Lydia, I _beg _you, _please _have the sense _not _to invite them _here_, of all the dreadful places!" May cried hopelessly.

And just as unexpectedly as she'd come upon her nieces' affairs, did they end. Quite abruptly, all the noise and the ruckus that had somehow miraculously failed to awaken all of May's hung-over and in some cases still inebriated siblings and in-laws suddenly became no more than a few soft murmurs, and before long, no one was saying anything at all, for breathless Lidu had reentered the foyer and was then leaning against the very door she had so distractedly closed only moments before. Her sisters parted to make way for her.

"_Well?_" Peony insisted, placing a firmly expectant stare on her half-sister.

"I invited them to Lancaster," Lydia sighed dreamily, closing her eyes and savoring the moment. "And it was _wonderful!_"

"_Lancaster!_" May cried amongst her nieces' murmurs of approval. "Lydia Barnett,_ what have you done?_"

* * *

IT WAS WELL PAST second breakfast and drawing dangerously near to elevenses when a loud knock was heard on the front door at The Hollow.

Rosemunda Hollow looked up from her embroidery and stared expectantly at her husband's newspaper, for it quite covered his face.

Unfortunately for Starboard, he had been married to his wife for nearly more than half a century, and so was incapable of harboring any adequate excuse for failing to comply with any of his wife's wishes, and that was merely in regards to the unspoken ones.

"Drew, get the door," he delegated to his son from behind his paper. Satisfied, Rosemunda turned her attention back to her pillowcase.

Drew, sitting beside him, was much too busy to even fathom doing such a thing—pretext, doting on his newborn daughter Celandine. He expressed his wishes to his father and snuggled closer to his wife on the loveseat.

Starboard sighed. "Rory, get the door," he delegated once more to his elder son, also reading his copy of the press.

Rory, having learned a little something or other about the execution of delegations from his father, took his pipe out of his mouth and turned to his red-headed daughter sitting by the fireplace. "Ruby, get the door."

Ruby placed her book on the hearth and scoffed. "Father, _must _you _always _call on _me _to get the door when you know it will only be for _you_? Why do you not tell me in the first place so we don't waste time establishing our powers of delegation!"

"You're just barmy because you've not got any," her father retorted, shuffling his paper.

"No, father, I'm_ '_barmy' because you know well and good that whoever is at the door shall be wanting to speak to the head of the household, and yet you still insist on _my _answering the door due to _your_ languor allowing _you_ to be _momentarily indisposed_ until your acting up something is all but absolutely necessary!"

Rory put the paper down and stared dully at his daughter. "Are you insinuating that I'm lazy?"

"I _said _that you were lazy, father—I'm _insinuating _that _you _get the door!"

"Ruby, do not use that tone with your father!" Nessa Hollow scolded.

By this time the knocking had become quite loud.

"JUST A MINUTE!" the entire household chorused irritably. Needless to say, the knocking quickly ceased.

"Sorry, mother," Ruby murmured, more bitterly than sincerely.

"Oh, stop all this fussing _at once_!" Rosemunda insisted. "_I _shall get the door!" She huffed crossly and stomped across the cozy living room to the foyer. Impatiently, she flung the door open and put her hands on her hips. "Now pray tell what it is you want?" she said to the two lads standing on her doorstep. One of the lads smiled, but the other one's expression was difficult to read.

"Wilcomb Jackley and Finn Underhill, at your service, ma'am." The lad was reasonably handsome, Rosemunda thought, with his light-brown hair and green eyes, broad smile and fine figure. She immediately sent a suspicious glance to her now fuming granddaughter watching her curiously by the fireplace.

"Just arrived in Dwaling this morning," he continued pleasantly, "and thought we might acquaint ourselves with the locals. My friend here," and he pointed to his companion, "happens to be building a summer smial for his mother."

His companion was the quiet type, Rosemunda assumed, or rather a little on the snobbish side. He'd forced a small, tight smile when Mr. Jackley had mentioned him.

He was slightly taller than his friend, and had a darker disposition: black hair and brown eyes—no doubt the nicer looking of the two, though he seemed quite antisocial and didn't come off quite as quite the overly friendly type. But his eyes, however dark, seemed intelligent and honest. And he did have a rather cute nose.

"Have you boys eaten elevenses yet?" Rosemunda inquired cordially, though left them no room to answer whether they had or not. "You look famished. Do come in and complement me on my cooking."

Suddenly, a quite feminine scream caused her to look to the lane, where noticed a carriage there. "And the rest of your party is welcomed to dine with us, of course."

Mr. Underhill looked as if he were about to object, but kind, dear Mr. Jackley slapped him on the back and told Mrs. Hollow that they would be delighted to join them.

* * *

THE REST of Mr. Jackley's party consisted of three other lads (his cousins, who would be assisting all the muck and muddle of transporting furniture and silverware and things like that), two lasses (the sisters of previously stated three lads), and Hobbs, a small little hobbit lad no older than seven or eight (Mr. Jackley's younger brother), who dragged behind him a small yellow puppy named Calvin.

Little Celandine was quite taken with Calvin, and was quite unwilling to part with him once it was time for elevenses.

The only one not among them was the elderly Mrs. Underhill, who was unable to make such rounds and perfectly willing to stay at the inn with her maid, though Mr. Jackley flatteringly assured Mrs. Hollow that she was indeed missing out on a most delicious meal.

The Hollows, however, being a kind of perceptive hobbits, were able to judge a lot about their guest through their introductions and rounds of small talk:

Mr. Jackley was a very nice, sincere lad, and a rather good conversationalist. He was ready to laugh heartily at any joke Starboard and Rory threw his way, and was very polite and pleasant to the ladies as well, especially young Miss Ruby Hollow, to whom Rosemunda expected he'd taken a small fancy.

Mr. Underhill, quite the opposite, was very quiet throughout the meal. He was not one to start conversation, though he answered all questions directed his way with courtesy and respect, and sometimes a little bit of sarcasm when either the question or the questioner proved to be exceptionally stupid. This he mostly did for his own entertainment. But he didn't seem shy at all, and though he frowned, it was more out of boredom than discontentment.

Bored he may well have been with companions like the Misses Jackleys, who talked at great lengths about absolutely every which they knew nothing about. (Any intelligent conversation was more likely to be had with Calvin.) The other three young lads proved to be equally as social but likewise as uneducated, though conversation with them was at least a bit more tolerable.

Hobbs, like his older brother, was quite the young gentlemen and most definitely on his way to becoming a lady's man. He was charming, polite, and absolutely adorable, and was quickly adored by the females of the group, as most small children are.

The meal, otherwise, was uneventful.

They departed on good terms with hopes of dining together again—well, at least Jackley, Hobbs, Rosemunda, and Ruby did, at any rate, especially the former and latter.

Rosemunda once again saw them to the door, and Misters Jackley and Underhill remained behind while the rest of their party piled into the carriage. And it was then that Mister Jackley asked a very curious question indeed.

"I hope you wouldn't mind lending us some directions," he said before they were off. "We've been trying to find the Lancaster estate for some hours now, and have had absolutely no luck at all. Might you know where it is?"

Mr. Underhill watched curiously as the warm expression on Mrs. Hollows face slowly iced over. "Lancaster?" she murmured, frowning. "Why it's just a little ways down the lane and over that hill… Very hard to miss it, lads…"

And though Jackley was very pleased with the answer, Mrs. Hollow was most definitely not.

"Well thank you _very much _for all your hospitality, Mrs. Hollow. Finn here will be _sure _to invite you over for dinner once the smial is built to return the favor, and he thanks you _very _much for the directions, I'm sure," Jackley assured, tipping his hat. "Good day."

"Yes," Rosemunda murmured. "Good day."

Mr. Underhill likewise tipped his hat before turning to follow his companion down the walkway. Rosemunda watched him curiously, an awkward feeling growing in her heart. _Why hadn't Eleanor told her she would be receiving visitors? And why hadn't she given them any directions?_

"What do you want with my granddaughter, Mr. Underhill?" she murmured as his carriage disappeared around a bend in the lane.


	3. Unexpected Guests

Affairs of Entailment

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

MISTER FLOWERS was a servant of the most peculiar variety. There was nothing unusual about his appearance—he was a white-haired old widow of about seventy or eighty years with a smug, impish smile, a stout, solid figure, and had probably been quite handsome in his day. His skin was tanned and leathery, but nonetheless healthy, and he had small pale blue eyes and a straight, pointed nose on which rested a pair of half-moon spectacles. He liked to read and kept himself very tidy.

Often times Eleanor found him sitting by the fireplace in the living room, with a cup of tea by his side and a good book in his lap, dressed smartly in a nice, fitted waistcoat and breeches or a lovely house robe. That was, in fact, where she found him when she emerged from the kitchen that morning, she clad in a simple cream-coloured night dress and with her hair pulled up and he one of his aforementioned robes.

"I've no breakfast, Mister Flowers. Pray tell why?" she asked him from the doorway.

"A little late for breakfast now, isn't it?"

"If you were as cunning with a frying pan as you are with your evasiveness, perhaps it would not be."

"How often the skill of evasiveness makes up for such shortcomings," he replied, having yet to look up from his novel.

"Abdication is hardly a supplement," Eleanor argued.

"I beg to differ in reference to my culinary competence," retorted Mister Flowers, "for you would not think it so, were I to incinerate your kitchen."

"But _do_ I think it so in the absence of breakfast."

"And would you also think it so in the absence of your kitchen?" he persisted with raised eyebrows.

Eleanor pursed her eyes and set her hands to her hips. "Must you be so difficult?"

"Must you be so relentless?"

"I would certainly be at liberty to be so after three days of being forced to eat every meal abroad due to the fact that my servant is lacking in incentive to actually serve!"

"Incentive is no problem of mine, Miss Barnett, but of yours."

* * *

MAY BARNETT bolted from Knocturn Abbey the moment her nieces had expressed their deficiency of finery to their fathers, who, eager to rid themselves of their daughters for the moment and, perhaps, more permanently, were inclined to acquiesce a request of the carriages for a trip to Frogmorton. At the thought of having to chaperone such an event, May Barnett had paled. She snuck out as discretely and quickly as possible and, unable to deprive the stables of the ponies needed for aforementioned excursion, ran with her skirts balled up in her fists as quickly as she could to The Hollow.

"Miss May, whatever has happened to you?" Ruby exclaimed when she found the flushed lady panting on her doorstep.

"Ruby!" May cried. "We must make haste! Have you a carriage or a pony?"

Ruby frowned. "Why, father and papa have just taken both to town. You just missed them," she said apologetically, pointing down the road where a black dot could be seen disappearing beyond a far hill. "Whatever is the matter?" she pressed again.

"I fear your cousin is about to encounter a few unexpected guests!" said May, all in a tizzy and yet to catch her breath. "Ruby, we must warn her!"

But Ruby was of no inclination to do so. "Do you mean those two lads who've just arrived in Dwaling? Misters Jackley and Underhill?" she asked. "Was Lee not expecting them?"

"Not at all!" May cried. "Their invitation to Lancaster was Lydia's doing!" she informed bitterly. "Only this morning they appeared at Knocturn Abbey. My nieces have already arranged for a trip to Frogmorton to procure fineries in preparation for the dinner they are expecting to be invited to tonight at Lancaster!"

"Well I'm sure they'd hardly be of any inconvenience to Eleanor… She is always welcoming of visitors and is not short of any space in which to house them. I'm afraid I don't understand your distress…" But in reality, she was afraid of losing the convenience of having Mister Jackley at her cousin's smial.

"Ruby, how blind you are! You mustn't know your cousin at all! Lee detests such courtesies of the social variety. And she is without warning!"

Begrudgingly, Ruby inclined herself to agree—for even she would not suffer her cousin to such measures of discomfort.

"But how are we to get there in time? The lads left near half an hour ago and are sure to have arrived by now."

"Then we must hope they had intended to make other acquaintances before resigning themselves to Lancaster! Now be quick!"

Ruby only had time to call to her mother that she would be accompanying Miss Barnett on a visit to dear cousin Eleanor, before May grabbed her by the elbow and dragged her into the lane, by which they made all haste to Lancaster.

* * *

"THEN DO YOU INTEND to remain on temporary leave from my service quite indefinitely?" Eleanor inquired incredulously. "While still residing in _my _smial?"

Mister Flowers made no move to respond.

"You forget yourself, Mister Flowers," she said with a sigh, falling to the sofa.

"I am old and set in my ways," he stated firmly, raising his chin a bit.

"Not to mention your chair," Eleanor muttered with contempt of the lackadaisical variety.

"And I do not think I will be forgetting that soon," the elder hobbit continued.

"Then to what extent do I have you at my disposal?" she inquired.

"I am here anytime you need me," he told her reassuringly.

"As long as it does not require taking leave of your chair or your books," added Eleanor with an air of dejection. "And pray tell what service might come under that jurisdiction?"

"One of moral support and good advice."

Eleanor laughed and shook her head. "I should hardly be tempted to seek good advice from a 'witticist' such as yourself, Mister Flowers."

"Then that is also not my problem."

* * *

BY THIS TIME, May and Ruby were making steady but exhausting progress. They had already hurried themselves in as ladylike a manner as they could manage—their skirts hitched, their hair matted, their foreheads sweaty, and with the indignity that haste-making in public generally called for—and were nearly within shouting-range of Lancaster when a carriage appeared from around the bend.

"That's them," Ruby affirmed glumly. "We cannot possibly arrive in time, Miss May, yet alone unnoticed."

"No, Ruby," said her companion firmly, "we mustn't give up! We shall enter through the back entrance."

Ruby, however, did not take a liking to this notion. "But I'll ruin my dress!" she complained, stopping in the middle of the lane.

"Well, if you are quick enough you may return to Knocturn Abbey in time to accompany Lidu to Frogmorton and buy a new one!"

"I still do not see how this will solve our time problem."

"Lee'll have a time of persuading Mister Flowers to even get up to fetch the door. We must trust that such obstinacy will provide a sufficient delay."

* * *

MISTER FLOWERS' LAST COMMENT was quite the end of the conversation, for Mister Flowers was disinclined to continue it, and Miss Barnett, of an obviously contrary inclination, was interrupted by a knock at the door. She closed her mouth and set her butler with a look.

"It is very impolite to stare, Miss Barnett," was all he said.

"It is also very impolite to keep guests waiting," reminded Eleanor pointedly, defiantly taking a seat on the sofa, for she had stood in protest only moments before.

"Then I suggest that as the Lady of the house, you should let them in. Do not bother an old man with such trivial courtesies. Suffer his old bones to rest, or he shall suffer for them."

"Worry me not with such guilt, sir, for it is of the doctor's opinion, and therefore of mine, that you are not wrought with such ailments as those of which you speak."

"Sickness may not plague me," Mister Flowers conceded, "but fatigue has taken its toll. You are yet young and full of life which I may only envy—waste not such talents on idle delegations. Leave me to my peace!"

"Your peace will not last long, be it one of my cousins at the door with no one to send her away. For if I answer, she will scarcely believe me when I say I am not at home; even Lidu is not so naïve."

Mister Flowers lay down his book and removed his glasses from his face. He whipped his forehead on his sleeve and announced, "How clever you are, Lee, for you have persuaded me to get the door indeed, should I otherwise fear the relentless prattle of your idiotic relatives."

Eleanor smirked and settled herself more comfortably into the cushions, folding her arms in satisfaction. "I am very learned in the art of persuasion, Mister Flowers."

"No, my dear," he argued, removing himself from the armchair. "You are very learned in the art of coercion, which I suppose is oftentimes of more convenience."

She watched him exit the room before turning to peer out the window, where to her immediate surprise sat a handsome carriage drawn by a pair of handsome ponies. Eleanor frowned—since when had the Barnetts the pecuniary advantage to travel in such prestige?

Mister Flowers confirmed her suspicions when he reentered the room, an impish grin spread in a most unnerving manner across his face. "A pair of lads awaits your presence just outside the foyer, Miss Barnett," he informed her, settling himself once more into his armchair. He placed his glasses on his nose and picked up his book. "I was not aware that you were expecting such company."

"What can they possibly want with me?" Eleanor muttered tersely, brow furrowed, crossing her arms but making no move to get up.

"Perhaps you should inquire such reasons from your company instead of me, however, consider this quickly, for I do not imagine they are inclined to wait much longer."

With a roll of her eyes, Eleanor removed herself from the sofa and stomped out of the living room and into the hallway, where she turned left and marched into the foyer. Without even looking out the window to first familiarize herself with the faces of her guests, she reached for the doorknob when suddenly her backdoor swung open.

"LEE—_DON'T_!"

But it was too late. Standing before Eleanor Barnett on her front doorstep, oblivious once again to the commotion going on inside, were—

"Wilcomb Jackley and Finn Underhill."

Pleased to make her acquaintance.


End file.
